her red hair

She sits there in her big red plastic chair. Her hair dyed a paler version of the same red. Brown roots show through her matted hair. Her surroundings go unnoticed as she sips her coffee.


The red walls of the coffee shop taunt her. Excitement. Desire. Love. Reminders of what used to be.


Twirling her green scarf in one hand and clutching her romance novel in the next, her tired hands show a life lived in years far too past. Page by page she travels back to her youth when her hair color matched her current persona . Purple one month. Orange the next. This month red. But those days have faded. Her thin hair now lacks the vibrance it once had, greys and whites now reflect the same dullness she feels inside.


Her white crumpled napkin sits in wait until it is held again. Tossed aside quickly, it knows the person that clutches it has known adventure, pain, romance, passion. Her wrinkles form telling lines of a life well lived. But her secrets will never be told.


She slowly lifts her coffee cup, throws her green scarf back around her neck and heads out the door. I hope today she'll find the courage to start her adventures again; dye her hair green, and go. But she'll be back next week, she's always back. Same time, same chair, ready to return to life only through her books.